


make you say my name tonight (let me set the mood right)

by pynk (pinkjook)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Rose Creek, Wet Dream, but person b really really isnt, the CLASSIC person a thinks person b is having a nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-25 20:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13220955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkjook/pseuds/pynk
Summary: This time, it's Billy who's dreaming.And it's a real good dream.





	make you say my name tonight (let me set the mood right)

**Author's Note:**

> billy rocks deserves a couple nice dreams. also I Love Goodnight Robicheaux and HE loves billy rocks. so. jot that the FUCK down, everyone. nigh on 10 years together and they're still just as goddamn in love as they ever were. i'm gonna cry about it. this is the first fic i've ever written in my LIFE, is how much i'm crying about it. Everyone Come Cry With Me Please

Goodnight's been staring at the stars for a couple hours, now. Real relaxed, like. Musing on things— his life, and the war, and Billy. Always Billy. Sometimes Goodnight thinks Billy stole into his head just as surely as that goddamned owl. Or maybe that’s not quite right— stole into his heart, is more like. Goodnight smiles and he knows it looks damned tender, but he doesn’t mind. He can’t help it and Billy ain't awake to make fun of him for it.

There’s no wings on the wind tonight, no sinister rustle of feathers. Only the crack of the fire and Billy’s steady, slow breathing. Which, now that he's listening close, sounds faster'n normal.

Goodnight lifts his head off his pallet, gives himself a crick in the neck. Tries to get a better look at Billy and, when that fails, sits up entirely. He can’t help but think _nightmare._  Cause, for all Billy sleeps like the dead, and don't dream much, he still gets them, on occasion. Goodnight squints at him through the dark, and the fire. Might be good to go over there, just in case it gets worse. It’s mighty nice having another body near you, when the dreams get like that.

And so Goodnight hauls himself up from the ground, knees creaking, and walks around their fire and settles a couple feet to Billy’s left. He can see Billy’s face real clear, from this spot, and Billy’s brow is furrowed but his lips are slack. All pink and wet— he might be drooling. Fondness creeps up Goodnight’s throat and settles into his smile. Yes, that’s his Billy Rocks, as beautiful asleep as he is awake.

Goodnight settles himself a little more comfortably, gets ready to stay in that spot all night. If there was one thing his time in the war was good for—if war could be good for anything— it’d be teaching him to stay in a spot, without moving, for a mighty long time. And, besides, he would do worse for Billy. Had done worse, really.

So Goodnight settles his ass on the hard rock beneath him and leans back on an elbow to look up at the stars again. Half-dozes for a few minutes.

And then Billy makes a noise.

It’s startled, and half-punched out of him, and sounds like a name all tangled up in a gasp. Goodnight jerks up, head whipping to the side.

Billy’s curled in on himself, brow still furrowed, mouth still slack, but breathing harder, and squirming restlessly on his pallet. His feet kick out even as he flops onto his back, graceless asleep like he never is awake. Goodnight stumbles to his feet, trying to remember what Billy does for him when he’s had a nightmare. Finds he can’t quite remember— it’s always hazy, when he wakes up. But he knows Billy is always there, saying his name, and he figures that’s an alright spot to start.

He walks over, kneels down, knees by Billy’s chest. He leans forward, puts a hesitant hand on Billy’s forehead. Wryly thinks that if Billy comes up swinging he won’t be able to do much to defend himself. And then Goodnight decides, to hell with it, he’s gotten more’n a few black eyes in his time, and leans forward.

“Billy,” he whispers, voice near crooning. “Billy, Billy…wake up, now. Wake’on up, Bill.”

And Billy shifts, head lolling to the side so that his nose hits Goodnight’s knee. A sharp, amused breath comes out Goodnight’s nose, despite his worry. He moves his hand up Billy’s forehead to his hair, greasy and wet with the summer heat, and starts stroking. Tugs a little bit, thinks that might help Billy wake up faster.

But all that does is make Billy squirm more, and let out these breathy, panting grunts, like a horse who’s been run too hard.

Real concerned now, because Billy’s been a light sleeper for as long as Goodnight’s known him, Goodnight puts another hand to Billy’s chest, right over his heart. They’re both only in their shirts, vests and coats long gone, so it’s easy to feel how hard Billy’s heart is beating. Like he’s been sprinting through the sand, or been fighting a dozen men.

“Billy,” Goodnight says again, careful to keep his voice at that crooning whisper, “Billy, cher, it’s time to wake up. C’mon now, darlin’.”

Billy stirs again, reluctant, and then suddenly the firelight is hitting him just right and Goodnight’s on the verge of hysterics. Of all the damn fool— God, if Billy wakes up now he’s going to kill Goodnight and then die of embarrassment. And it surely won’t help if Goodnight’s flat on his back in the middle of a laughing fit. But the sudden lift of worry feels damn good, and he thinks there’s worse things than Billy waking up with a boner and finding Goodnight in a spectacular mood not a foot away from him.

Or, at least, that’s what Goodnight’ll say, when Billy wakes up and sees him laughing and gets spitting mad. And now that Goodnight’s recovered himself some there’s a spark of heat low in his gut, and he finds himself leaning forward, eyes raking over Billy carefully.

Billy’s pink, wet lips are still parted and he’s still panting, legs still moving restlessly. One of Billy’s arms are behind his head and the other is thrown over his stomach, creeping closer and closer to his crotch. Another set of breathy, near helpless moans tumble out of Billy’s mouth as Goodnight watches, and the spark in Goodnight’s belly fans itself into a comfortable fire.

“Now just what are you dreamin’ about, sweetheart?” Goodnight murmurs.

Billy doesn’t respond, of course, but his eyelids flicker and his hips buck up against the air, just a little. His strong shoulders roll against the ground, digging in. Goodnight licks his lips and looks his fill. Here is Billy, his strong, rough-and-tumble Billy Rocks, lost in his own head, rolling his body just to feel it. It’s a fine sight. Mighty fine.

Now that he’s listening he recognizes the noises Billy’s making, notes them clearly as Billy’s sex noises and wonders how he mixed them up with anything else. Cause he knows that panting moan, knows that furrowed brow. This is Billy Rocks tangled up in pleasure, huffing and riding the air.

Goodnight winds his fingers back into Billy’s hair and resumes his gentle tugging. Keeps his palm flat, bends his fingers, pulls. Repeats. After every tug, Billy’s eyes flutter, and he slurs a moan, more vocal than he would be awake. Goodnight tugs again, and again. Each time Billy twitches, comes a little closer to waking up.

Goodnight starts talking. “C’mon Billy, darlin’, sweetheart… C’mon back, now… what’re you dreamin’ about, cher? Bet we can make it happen right out here, but’cha gotta wake up, first. C’mon, now. C’mon.”

He tugs Billy's hair. Scrubs a hand across Billy’s chest, knocks Billy’s arm away from his stomach. Billy stirs again, with purpose this time, and his eyes flick open once, twice. A third time and they widen, and Billy sits up.

“Well hello there,” Goodnight purrs at him. "Right pleased t' see ya."

“Goody?” Billy says, disoriented. “What in the hell—”

Billy cuts himself off and his eyes get wider. And then, suddenly, all of his composure is back, all at once. Breathing under tight control, all of him still. But his cheeks are still red, and it’s not because of the firelight. Goodnight just sits there and smiles at him, knows it's his trouble-maker smile, the one that got him whupped by his daddy when he was young.

Billy narrows his eyes at him, suspicious. And embarrassed, Goodnight decides. Mighty embarrassed.

“What in the hell what, sugar?” Goodnight says, leaning toward him. He traces a hand down Billy’s chest, stopping at his belt buckle, the other hand still in Billy’s hair. “Looked like you were havin’ a dream, that’s all. A good one, if I may say so."

And then he looks at Billy from under his eyelashes, like he knows Billy likes, and says: “Wanna tell me about it?”

And Billy, his dangerous, calm Billy Rocks, looks thrown. Shifts around his pallet, like he ain't sure what to say. Keeps his mouth shut, head whirling, thinking so hard Goodnight can see it. Goodnight fights to keep his face placid even as part of him whoops in glee. Billy thinks Goodnight doesn’t know what he was dreaming about. He’s part right, to be sure. Goodnight doesn’t know the particulars, but he’s got eyes and he’s got ears, and he’s got a brain in his head.

He can guess.

His trouble-maker smile gets wider.

For his part, Billy rolls back, settles on his elbows, one leg crooked.  A pretty picture, to be sure.  But Goodnight stays where he is, a hand in Billy’s hair and a hand at Billy’s belt.  He wants to hear Billy talk.  Wants to hear about that dream of his; Goodnight’s always been a curious sort of fella.  He wants to hear Billy talk about his dream and he wants to hear about it _in detail._ Intimate detail, even.

Billy licks his lips but his eyes dart away from Goodnight, settle on the fire behind him.  Goodnight cuts in, gets his face near Billy's and puts on his most charming grin.  

“C’mon, Rocks,”  Goodnight says. “It's a long time we’ve been ridin’ together.  Ain’t nothin’ you could say that would shock me.”

There wasn’t, hand a God, but anything making Billy squirm like he's doin' must be  _good_ _._ Goodnight feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, he’s so eager to hear what Billy’s gonna say.  But Billy doesn’t say anything, just blushes redder, and his shoulder jerks like he’s about to move his arm.

Goodnight flicks his eyes down Billy’s body and sees that Billy’s even harder than he was before, somehow.  Goodnight scoots forward again, so that his knees are flush against Billy’s side. He fists his hand in Billy’s hair, slips the other beneath Billy’s shirt and starts tracing circles on his stomach, just above his belt.  Billy stretches like a dog in the sun, laying down and tucking an arm beneath his head, flexing. Still quiet.

“Want me to guess, then, cher?”

Billy looks at him, and suddenly his eyes are burning and amused.  Playing off Goodnight like he has since the first time they met.  “Guess,” he says, lazing against the hard ground, looking for all the world like he’s laying on a feather bed.

Goodnight traces his hand up and down Billy’s stomach beneath his shirt, nails trailing.  Goosebumps flash over Billy’s skin and Goodnight feels them beneath his palm.  

Ah.  So Billy wants Goodnight to talk.

That works out.  Goodnight is feeling particularly talkative.

“Well now,” Goodnight says, warming up, “I suppose I was in this dream of yours,” and looks at Billy for confirmation.  Part of him is hesitant to ask, cause what if Billy says no?  A man can hardly control what he dreams about, after all, and Goodnight knows it first hand.  But then Goodnight thinks, if it _is_ a no… well.  That could be fun, too.  Plenty fun.

But Billy is nodding, throat working on a swallow.  “Yeah,” he says, “you were in it.”  And his eyes are dark like he’s remembering, dark like he’s turned on.

Goodnight smiles, slow, with all his teeth.  Billy’s breath stutters in his chest.  Goodnight can feel it, beneath his palm.  “Good,” Goodnight says, “good.  And I’ll bet I can guess what I was doin’.”

Billy twists toward him, half on his side.  Raises a brow, challenging, playful. “What?”

“Bet I was on top of you,” Goodnight says. “Bet I had hands in your hair, bet I was kissin’ on your neck.”

Billy goes redder than he had, red enough that his brown skin looks like it’s glowing. _Gotcha_ , Goodnight thinks. If he’s guessing right, and he thinks he is, this was a dream where Billy got all his favorite things. A dream where Billy Rocks, his tender and attentive lover, just took and took, took all the things he hardly ever asks for, the favorite things he hardly knows are his favorites.  The favorite things that only Goodnight knows about, the things that make Billy’s body sing.  That make him cry.  

Yeah, Goodnight could talk about this.  Could talk all night long.

“Bet we were grindin’, in this dream of yours. All on each other like we were way at the beginning, bet I was just beggin’ to feel you.”

Because Goodnight remembers that, remembers being desperate for any part of Billy, desperate to get on Billy and in Billy, desperate for Billy on and in him. Desperate for anything, for everything. They’ve mellowed some, over the years, but sometimes there’s a good fight, or a real bad one, and all that desperate needing comes roaring back, for both of them. But in the beginning… well. In the beginning it was like that _all_ the time.

“Yeah, we were movin’ together. Rubbin’ and rubbin’.” Every word comes out a little thicker than the last, that bayou-drawl rolling off his tongue. “Was markin’ on your neck, makin’ it all black an’ blue.  Sayin _sweetheart,_ oh, oh, sugar,” and he moans those words, like he would’ve in Billy’s dream.

Billy moans in response, his hand grabbing Goodnight’s and moving it from above his belt to his crotch.  Goodnight curls his fingers over the line of Billy’s cock, scrubs his palm rough over his pants.  Billy lets go abruptly and throws his head back, panting hard, just like when he was dreaming.

Goodnight keeps his hand there, working the heel of his hand over Billy, again and again.  

“But that weren’t all we were doing. Couldn’t’a been. I got your shirt off, near ripped off the buttons. Got my lips on that gorgeous chest of yours, kissin’ and kissin’, and you sat back and enjoyed it, cher. Sat back and said nothin’ at all, just my name, all pretty like you do. Let me tug on your hair, like this,” Goodnight says, and pulls hard on the roots of Billy’s hair.

Beneath him, Billy’s hips jump, and he grinds himself against Goodnight’s hand desperately. “God, Goody,” he says, voice rasping, “God. Come on—”

“Come on what?” Goodnight says, wishing he had an extra hand, so he could put it on his cock. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Beneath him, Billy gives a breathless laugh, more a huff of air than anything. “ _You_ talk to _me,”_ he says. “Come on, Goody. Tell me more, tell me—” and he cuts himself off with a gasp, because Goodnight twists his wrist exactly right, exactly how Billy likes, and Goodnight grins down at Billy as he thrusts against the air and Goodnight’s hand.  

“Tell me more, you say. Alright, then, darlin’. In this dream I reckon I was kissin’ on you ‘til you couldn’t take it.  ‘Til you had to take your pants off or risk comin’ in ‘em.  And I’ll bet we shucked ‘em off as quick as possible, threw ‘em in the dirt next to us. Took mine off, too."

Goodnight takes his hands away, starts unbuttoning Billy’s shirt.  Billy whines at the loss, bucking his hips up in protest, wild.  It’s just too damn tempting— Goodnight climbs up and sits down hard on Billy’s hips, pinning him.  Billy settles beneath him, hands coming up to grab at Goodnight, low on his back, brushing his ass.

Goodnight laughs and pulls Billy’s shirt free from his belt, pushing it off his shoulders.  Tugs Billy’s undershirt up and off.  Leaves his own shirt on but pops the top couple buttons, summer air suddenly overwhelmingly hot.  Billy just lays still beneath him, watching and watching, fingers making tiny stroking motions over the top of Goodnight’s ass.

Goodnight bends forward and puts his lips on Billy’s, catches Billy’s lower lip between his teeth and bites, on the good side of too-hard.  Billy groans and hauls him closer, leaning up a little. Goodnight feels Billy’s stomach flex beneath his hands and trails his nails over the hair there.  Kisses and kisses him, lips catching and making wet, sucking noises.  Sucks on Billy’s tongue, twists his own tongue into Billy’s mouth.  

It’s all panting and groaning, and Goodnight wants to say Billy’s name, wants to keep talking, but he wants to keep kissing Billy more. And so that’s what he does, spends minutes just kissing him.  Kissing and kissing.

He moves his lips to Billy’s neck and bites hard, like Billy likes.  Bites with tiny, sharp jabs and then sucks harder.  Catches the skin of Billy’s neck between his teeth, rolls it between them, then licks over it with his tongue.  Billy pants, hard, and then lets out a tiny, shaking moan, almost Goodnight’s name.  

Goodnight lifts his head and grinds down hard with his hips, feeling Billy buck underneath him. Shimmies his hips down again, watching Billy watch him.  It’s like putting on a show— and Goodnight’s always had a flare for the dramatic.  He rides Billy like he would a wild horse, lifting and settling easy, spine bending. Throws his head back just so Billy will look at him. Bites his lip just to feel Billy groan and flex up to try and kiss him.  

“Yeah, bet we were just like this, in that dream’a yours,” Goodnight says, and Billy laughs beneath him, stomach shaking, like he’s surprised Goodnight’s still talking.

“But I’ll bet we were naked, huh, cher? Naked and with you inside me. Me ridin’ you.” He rocks against Billy’s body, grinds himself against the flat plane of Billy’s stomach even as he moves over Billy’s cock.  Both of them are still wearing their pants and boots, and Goodnight’s still in his shirt, but Goodnight doesn't give a goddamn.

Billy throws his head back and the rest of him follows. He settles himself back against the pallet like Goodnight’s riding him for real, all slick and hot over him.  

Goodnight keeps talking, can’t do anything else, not with this heat between them, turning him on ‘til he’s fit to burst. “Bet you were laid back, just like this, just lettin’ me take and take,” and Goodnight cuts himself off with an “oh, _darlin’,_ fuck,” when Billy bucks up, wild, and hits against Goodnight’s cock just right. “Darlin’, darlin’, oh, bet we were movin’ just like this. Just like this all night, for as long as we could take it.”

Goodnight darts a hand out to Billy’s chest, trips a finger over one of his nipples.  Billy jerks like he’s been shocked and Goodnight smiles like a coyote.  Moves his hand to fist it in Billy’s hair and then jerks him up, smooth as anything, so that they’re face to face, huffing the same air.  Puts his mouth back on Billy’s neck, bites, and then goes lower, pulling at Billy’s hair until he’s arched beneath Goodnight.

And then he fixes his mouth on one of Billy’s nipples and Billy damn near howls. Goodnight laughs against Billy’s chest and then bites down, delicate, again and again.

Billy is shuddering against him, hips jerking, every breath coming out on a moan.  A wave of tender affection washes over Goodnight, overwhelming, and he presses his lips to the skin above Billy’s heart. Licks at it.

“Look at you,” he says. “Thank God I met you, eh, cher?” And fixes his mouth back on Billy’s before he can reply.  

Billy’s noises start taking on a pained edge, the wrong side of desperate, now, and Goodnight kisses Billy real slow, until Billy’s lips are gentle and the pained sounds are gone.  Goodnight breaks the kiss and presses his lips to Billy’s forehead, then to the line of Billy's cheekbones. Decides to cut the bullshit, at least for a while.

“Let’s get you off, sweetheart,” Goodnight says, voice at a croon, and moves his hands to Billy’s waist, still sat up on Billy's crotch. Goodnight shoves his own burning want aside, pushes it way down deep, and undoes Billy’s belt buckle with steady, sure hands.

Goodnight lifts off Billy’s lap and settles further down his thighs. Billy watches him, dark eyes burning, chest heaving, arms shaking and taut. Goodnight pushes at Billy’s chest, soft, and Billy goes down hard, hair splayed out on the pallet beneath him, back arching a little. He looks dazed, eyes foggy with want.  Been on the edge just a little too long, probably, and regret pushes at Goodnight's chest until all the teasing is gone.

“I’ve gotcha, now, Billy,” he says, and pushes a hand down Billy’s pants, real gentle, and grabs Billy’s cock in his fist.  Strokes it soft at first and then speeds up, keeps the pressure firm. Uses all the tricks Billy likes— strokes his thumb over the slit at the head, rubs at that sensitive area at the base of Billy’s cock.

It doesn’t take long. Billy’s already shaking, panting and groaning, head tossing like a riled-up horse, dark hair flying. Goodnight croons at him, words like _I gotcha_ and _oh, darlin’, it’s alright_ and _letcha’self go, Billy. I gotcha._

Billy trembles apart beneath Goodnight and the open sky, saying _Goody, Goody, Goody_ and nothing else.  His cock twitches again and again in Goodnight’s fist and Goodnight rubs him through it, slower and slower until he stops.

After, Billy lays there for a minute, breathing hard, dazed and dripping with sweat and his own come. Goodnight stares at him, feeling unspeakably, unbearably fond. Frighteningly in love, the way he’s felt near every night for the past almost-decade. He takes his hand out from Billy’s pants and wipes the come off in the sand. Crawls off Billy’s thighs, settles beside him, just like he had when Billy was dreaming. 

Billy rolls his head to look at him, mouth slack, breath not quite back yet.  Goodnight snakes a hand into his own pants, slow, watching Billy, love still burning in his chest.  Burning him down to ashes.

Two, five strokes, slow and firm, with Billy’s eyes on him, and then Goodnight’s coming on a long sigh, head thrown back, eyes fluttering. It’s almost an afterthought, almost not important, except for how it feels so damn good.

He takes a deep breath, then another, and then unfolds himself. Lays down facing Billy, so close the toes of their boots touch. Billy brings a hand to Goodnight’s face, still trembling, and then he smiles. It looks an awful lot like the sun.

Goodnight scoots himself closer, rubbing dirt into his clothes and not caring a bit.

“I’m going to be the one to clean those, you know,” Billy says, but his eyes are twinkling like so many stars.

Goodnight keeps moving, nuzzles his way into Billy’s space.  Billy throws his arms around Goodnight easily and wraps him up firm.  Goodnight presses his nose against Billy’s neck and breathes him in, just for a minute.  He smells mighty strong, does Billy. A little rank, to tell it truthful.  All dried sweat and salt and horse, musky and real.  A little bit like sex.

Billy lets out a long sigh and presses his mouth against Goodnight’s hair, gives him a little kiss. They rest for a while, just breathing together. Goodnight thinks maybe their pulses have matched up, beating in rhythm. Goodnight breaks the quiet first.

“Really now, what _were_ you dreamin' about?” He asks.

Billy laughs so hard he almost knocks Goodnight from his perch against Billy’s chest.  “You, Goody,” Billy says, still chuckling. “Always you.”

And it doesn’t quite sound like a joke. Sounds a little bit like _I love you._

“Well,” Goodnight says, appeased, “well. Suppose that’s alright, then.” And it sounds a lot like  _I love you too._

The night is quiet, ain’t no wings on the wind. Only Billy, and Billy, and Billy, warm and loving against him, just how Goodnight likes it.


End file.
